


Not In Words Alone

by sparklebitca



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 13:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17366432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklebitca/pseuds/sparklebitca
Summary: Sirius provides comfort with open eyes





	Not In Words Alone

**Author's Note:**

> written around 2004, for a challenge prompt that was something like "all dialogue has to be cliches."

It's true love, you have no doubt about that. And it's a first love too, which makes it that much sweeter. But when the Head Boy and Girl have their seventh, and by far most spectacular, fight of the year, you reflect that the course of true love never does run smooth. It's kind of impossible to ignore the bumps in that particular road, in fact, when you wake up in the middle of the night to find James curled against you like a sleepy kitten - a sort of tall, sort of bony kitten, but a sleepy one nonetheless, and you still find it adorable.

"Old habits die hard, huh?" you whisper and work a hand into his tangle of hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. He mutters something, deep and rumbly and incoherent, and curls in a little closer, his head now resting directly over your heart.

Which, you are pleased to find, doesn't constrict painfully. Nope, just the warm, lazy lub-dub of a muscle that's learned to be grateful for what it gets to skip a beat at.

James mutters again, lips moving against your skin, and you lightly rub your thumb along his cheek. "Silence is golden, Jamie," you murmur, and he tilts his head slightly, turning his face, and lays a soft kiss on your rough palm.

_Lub-dub. Lub-dub._

You turn James' face up, your knuckles curling under his jaw. His eyes flicker open. You smile down at him, and he smiles back, and your hand runs down his neck to flatten against his collarbone, your fingers tapping playfully in the hollow.

When he presses his lips to your chest, you chuckle deep in your throat. "He who laughs best-" James warns softly, his hand snaking down to wickedly grasp your hip in a strong, Quidditch-calloused grip. You swallow your laughter and settle for licking at the outer shell of his ear, quick tongue-flicks which send him hissing and sighing on top of you, rolling easily to straddle you, lean thighs trapping yours between them. You raise your hands to them, run your fingers up the long muscles, from knee to hip.

_Lub-dub. Lub-dub._

You pause for a moment, holding him there, and catch his eyes with yours. You haven't done this with him since he and Lily got serious. It was always for fun before, fun and comfort and friendship, and while this feels okay to you - more than okay, kinda great actually - you want to make sure it's okay for him.

He smiles down at you, the corner of his mouth quirking, and places his hands over yours. He takes them and runs them around to the small of his back, arching slightly into the touch, head tilting to the side, kneading his fingers with yours as he closes his eyes. You watch his face, the colors and emotions flooding across it - he's beautiful like this, and you think he knows it. You sigh happily and tighten your fingers around his sides, against his spine, and as you're preparing to pull him down to you, he gives a little thrust with his hips. You gasp and buck involuntarily upwards underneath him. He puts a steadying hand on your chest and grins when you glare at him, panting.

"Ought to make hay while the sun shines, we ought."

You throw an eye to the window curtained against the night air, the dim moonlight flooding through the cracks. James shrugs and bends to kiss you, and his kiss is all the sunlight you've ever felt on your face, warm and lazy-golden, like summer days that stretch without end.

Your hands move in slow circles, dipping around his shoulder-blades as you open your mouth to him, let him lick at the inside, your tongue dancing back to tangle with his. A quiet moan escapes from him, and you swallow it down into your lungs and give it back to you, a little rougher, a little louder. His hands are planted on either side of your head, but he lifts one to trace down along your face, mouth still gentle and questing against yours.

You sigh his name. He closes his eyes once more and breaks the kiss only to rest his forehead against yours.

_Lub-dub. Lub-dub._

"Friendship is not born of words alone," he tells you before he resumes the kiss.

No, you think. Not alone.


End file.
